


Little Bones

by Rotpeach



Series: The Great Tumblr Rehoming of 2018 [38]
Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Bullying, Gen, Harm to Animals, Harm to Children, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17364104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rotpeach/pseuds/Rotpeach
Summary: There's a kid in your class who doesn't talk to anyone. They say he only likes dead things.





	Little Bones

**Author's Note:**

> another personal favorite.

It’s feverishly warm. 

There’s nothing even resembling an October chill in the air. You stand side by side in t-shirts and shorts, up to your ankles in dry, prickly leaves. She lies face-down in the grass, a puddle of red slowly growing out like a halo around her head. You look at him and he looks at you, and you both look down at her.

In the silence, he takes your hand in his.

*

Everyone said that Lawrence liked dead things.

You didn’t believe them. You thought it was a mean thing to say.

The class hamster died when it was his turn to look after it and nobody noticed until its bloated corpse started leaking blood and pus over the bottom of its pellet-covered cage because he acted like nothing was different. He took it out to play with, letting its limp body sag in the folds of his shirt. It took a few days before anyone thought it might not just be sleeping.

You remember the teacher standing with one hand held out expectantly. Lawrence held the hamster like something precious, staring down at its glassy, dead eyes, his lower lip trembling.

“It’s okay, Lawrence,” she assured him. “It was just getting old, that’s all. I’ll see about getting a new one.”

He shook his head and refused to give her its body. Everyone was staring. You wondered how it felt to be standing there stuck between the classroom door and a wall of eyes. 

“He’s not gonna give it to her,” someone whispered.

“He likes dead stuff.”

“He’s gross.”

Lawrence looked at his feet and pretended he didn’t hear them, but you knew he did because he drew his shoulders in and dug the toe of his shoe into the carpet. 

“Look, it’s all icky.”

“Told you. He wants to keep it.”

“Ew!”

“Lawrence,” the teacher urged impatiently.

He shoved the hamster into her open hand and went back to his desk, hiding his face against the table. His shoulders trembled and you heard him sniffling. Your teacher kept trying to console him, assuring him it wasn’t his fault and telling the rest of the class to focus on their assignments. Nobody listened. 

She put the hamster in a little plastic baggie and said she’d be right back, disappearing into the hall. Someone drew a picture in crayon of Lawrence with a bloody hamster and started passing it around the back of the room. When it came to you, you ripped it into little pieces.

“Hey!” the kid who’d drawn it yelled.

“You’re being mean,” you told him. “Lawrence is sad the hamster died.”

“No, he isn’t. He doesn’t care. He probably likes it better now.”

A girl across from you nodded. “He’s gross,” she said, like he wasn’t sitting a few seats away. She looked at you smugly like she’d won the argument. 

You threw your pencil at her and it hit her in the eye. 

By the time your teacher came back, the class had descended into chaos, chairs overturned and children screaming. No two people told the same story—some of your classmates claimed you’d punched her, others said Lawrence had started it. She lectured everyone but you weren’t listening.

You looked instead at Lawrence, who was still sitting at his desk resting his head on the table. But he’d turned to look at you, his blue eyes visible even in the shadow his arm cast over his face. He was clutching a pair of scissors in one shaking hand. 

Not much changed by the end of the school day. People still said that Lawrence played with dead things, and now they said you did, too. 

*

“What do we tell everyone?” you whisper. You feel tears starting to run down your face and wipe them away. You’re scared. You don’t want to get in trouble. “Do we say we found her like that? We didn’t do anything. It’s not our fault, is it?”

Lawrence keeps his gaze on her motionless body. His silence unsettles you.

“Or do we say we don’t know anything?” you ask frantically, voice cracking in panic. “Should we pretend we never saw her? What if they find out we’re lying?”

“It doesn’t matter what we say,” Lawrence tells you. “It matters what we do.”

You furiously wipe at your eyes again. “Do we have to do something?” you whimper.

“Of course we do,” he says. “We can’t just leave her like this.”

The blood clotting in her hair on the back of her head forms big, red-black clumps like dirt. One of her sneakers lies on the other side of the rock she tripped on. 

“We should bury her,” Lawrence says. “That’s what you do with dead things. You bury them. Everyone knows that."

“I-I knew that,” you insist. It’s true, you do know. But you didn’t think he knew (accepted) that. “A-and then we leave her there, right? In the ground, forever?” 

“Forever,” he nods.

“A-and we won’t get in trouble?”

“Nope. We won’t.” He lifts his free hand—the one that isn’t holding yours—and extends his pinky finger. “Promise you’ll keep the secret?” he asks.

You bite your lip, glancing back down at her. Lawrence grips your hand so tightly it hurts. He’s frowning, still waiting for you to answer him.

Hesitantly, you nod. “Promise,” you whisper, curling your pinky around his.

*

It started with the rabbit.

The school was in a rural area, a small forest against its back and a corn field across the street. Small, furry things often darted out from the trees or between the tall stalks and into the road. A rabbit twitched in the midday heat, nearly flattened in the middle of the parking lot, flies buzzing over its corpse and crows circling overhead. A few older kids were already crouched around it poking at its eye with a stick when your teacher ran over to yell at them, but it was long dead by then.

Unlike the hamster that was hastily carried out of sight, she decided to take the opportunity to explain what happened at the end of life. She made a big deal of burying it in the vegetable garden behind the school. “The rabbit that once fed on the carrots will now feed the carrots,” she said with a bright smile. “And those carrots will feed another rabbit.” Then she let you all go for recess.

Not everyone understood. One of the kids cried. Another mused aloud about when the rabbit would come back out of the ground. Someone leaned over to their friend and whispered, “Bet Lawrence’ll come dig it up when no one’s looking.”

Lawrence was within earshot. You saw him tense up but he didn’t even look at them. You stomped over to where they stood on the playground and sent them scurrying and laughing, and it made you mad. When you looked back, Lawrence was gone.

After school, you found him kneeling in the vegetable garden all by himself. “Hi, Lawrence!” you called, waving an arm as you ran over. He flinched when he heard your voice and hurriedly got to his feet, brushing the dirt off of his pants. You slowed to a walk as you got closer. “What are you doing?”

“N-nothing,” he stammered. He always spoke so softly you could barely hear him. 

“Are you trying to plant something?” you asked, peering around him at a hole he’d started to dig into the garden. “Can I help?”

He stared at you wordlessly.

“Please? I won’t get in the way, I promise.”

“W-why did you do that?”

You blinked. “Do what?”

“Throw a p-pencil at that girl.”

“She was being mean to you,” you said with a shrug. “I didn’t like it.”

“Why?”

“Because…” You bit your lip. You didn’t expect to be put on the spot. “Because I’m your friend.”

You weren’t really. Not officially. You’d barely talked to him. But you wanted to be his friend, if he’d be okay with that.

The garden was silent. Your gaze wandered to the shovel in his hand, bits of blood around its edges. Lawrence shrugged, like he didn’t know what to say. 

(Like he didn’t believe you.)

He turned around and started digging again. You didn’t know what else to do, so you walked over and crouched next to him, watching. The rabbit’s matted pelt appeared in the ground and he carefully pulled it into his arms, dusting dirt and ants off of its oozing belly. He relaxed suddenly, the nervousness you saw on his face moments ago melting away into calm as he stroked its disgusting fur. You watched this, too. You didn’t know what to say.

He opened his eyes suddenly, looking startled, like he just remembered you were still there. “You wanna pet him?” he asked, sounding more confident than usual. He moved the rabbit so its head rested on his upper arm, turning so you could reach it more easily. 

Little bones poked out of its back and legs, and it was starting to smell. It was cold and squishy, its head sinking beneath your fingers like its skull had caved in. 

Lawrence watched you carefully. You didn’t know what he was looking for. You lost track of time petting the dead rabbit, forgetting where you were or what time it was until he said, “I wanna show you something,” and you saw the sunset reflected in his eyes.

You nodded and followed him into the woods.

*

Lawrence takes her feet and you take her arms. The two of you carry her further off of the trail. He asks you if you want to dig the hole but you just cry. “It’s okay,” he says, squeezing you in a tight hug. “Here, I’ll do it.” He takes the shovel in his steady

(too steady)

hands and works quickly, like there is something he wants under the ground, like there is a dead hamster or rabbit down there. You sit next to him, wiping your snotty nose and the tears that stream endlessly down your face, afraid of going home, of facing your parents, of going to school tomorrow. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was just an accident, wasn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to happen.

For some reason, Lawrence doesn’t look even a little scared. 

He hums a happy song and he keeps digging.

*

There were animals everywhere. 

Birds peeled off of porches from glass door collisions, deer heads dragged out of the maws of coyotes, squirrels scraped flat and flabby off of the road. They were piled one on top of the other, discolored and putrid and writhing with maggots, in the hollow trunk of a tree. Lawrence gently placed the rabbit at the top of his prized collection and smiled. You thought you saw a hamster wedged beneath a possum. 

“I like these,” he said, “because they’re like me. They’re little and nice.” He absently stroked the rabbit’s fur, getting its blood on his fingers. “I don’t have any friends. Nobody plays with me at recess. So I come here instead. I count the minutes in my head so I come back on time.” He frowned. “I wish I didn’t have to go back at all.”

You didn’t say anything. Lawrence’s frown deepened at your silence.

“You think it’s g-gross, don’t you?” he asked, stepping back from you. “Y-you think I’m gross, too.”

“No,” you said. 

You felt his eyes on you. You knew he was waiting for any sign of unease or disgust.

“I don’t like how they smell,” you told him, “but they’re not bad. The rabbit was really soft.”

Somebody screamed.

You whirled around. The girl you threw a pencil at was standing behind you, covering her mouth with both hands. “What is that?” she shrieked. “It’s so gross! All those animals….”

“Y-you’re not supposed to be here,” Lawrence stammered, standing in front of the tree trunk defensively.

“You’re both sick,” she said. “I knew you were gross, too, or you wouldn’t stand up for him. I’m telling the teacher you’re both gross weirdos who keep dead animals!” She turned on her heel and started stomping back through the woods. You were still reeling from the shock, in disbelief that she’d followed you. 

Lawrence sprinted past you. She heard him coming a second before he leapt onto her back and tackled her to the ground, pulling on her hair and scratching her face.

“You can’t tell on me!” he shouted. It was the first time you’d ever heard him raise his voice, the first time you’d seen him look anything but petrified. “You can’t, you can’t, you can’t!”

“Get off me!” She rolled around until he lost his balance and scrambled to her feet, making a run for the schoolyard. You saw Lawrence get as far as his knees before he stopped moving, just watching her go. You almost went after her yourself but then she tripped.

You saw her lurch forward, pitching head-first into the leaves, her legs in the air. Something cracked. Something made a soft splat. She fell and she didn’t get back up.

You didn’t realize what had happened until you ran over to her and found a circle of stones sticking out of the ground. She’d tripped on one and split her head open on another. You hadn’t seen them there before with the leaves covering them. 

You looked back at Lawrence, wide-eyed, swallowing nervously.

He got to his feet and slowly walked over to you. He looked down at her the way the older kids had looked at the dead rabbit when they pressed sticks into its gray eyes and squealed in delight as they broke whatever bones were still intact.

(You didn’t have the right words for that look. You might never have them. 

But you knew to be afraid.)

*

Lawrence fills the hole and covers it with leaves. 

“It’ll be okay,” he tells you. “She’s going to feed the plants now.” 

You whimper and nod even though it doesn’t make you feel better.

“It’s better like this. She won’t tell anyone.”

You nod again desperately.

“We never saw her. We weren’t even out here.”

You try to breathe but you choke on a sob instead.

“It’s okay,” he insists, wiping your tears away with one dirt-covered hand. “As long as you keep it all a secret, nothing bad will happen. I promise.”

You cling to his shirt. “It was an accident, right?” you ask.

Lawrence looks at you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. For a long time, there’s nothing but silence. You have the sudden irrational thought that the woods saw what you did. The woods know. The wind that makes the branches creak tells you it saw everything. “Yeah,” he says at last. “It was an accident.”

He sits with you until you stop crying and then he walks back to school with you. You both wash your hands and the shovel. His parents come to get him first. Before he leaves, he tells you he’s glad you’re his friend. He asks if you’ll play with him tomorrow. You’re afraid to say no.

*

Lawrence stood over her and watched her bleed out on the grass.

It was the first time you saw him smile.


End file.
